


Skin on Skin

by Woduz



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Awkward yuri, Bromance, Confused Emotions, F/M, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Fluffy Dates, Fluffy Texts, Gentle Yuri, Light Angst, M/M, Matured Yuri Plisetsky, Multi, Not Just Any Ordinary Girl, Not really slow burn, Otabek Secretly Likes Yuri, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Original Character, POV Yuri Plisetsky, Possible Smut At End, Romantic Fluff, Slow Burn, Supportive Otabek, Teen Romance, Victor And Yuuri Support, Yuri has a crush, clingy Yuri, figure skating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-08 11:07:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11080296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woduz/pseuds/Woduz
Summary: After a light bump-in at the nearest gas station from his home rink, Yuri Plisetsky couldn't get the young female off his mind - a wild distraction from everything.Until, he saw her again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello, this fanfic at the current moment has an unknown amount of chapters. From a guess, presumably 5-6. I'm not quite sure! We'll see where the first three take things ( ͡º ͜ʖ ͡º)
> 
> Yuri is seventeen: everyone in the show has aged up, still in their regular age pattern. However, I know the tag says 'matured Yuri', he really hasn't at times, but he lowkey kind of has. 
> 
> Yuuri and Viktor have part in this too, if any of you are wondering...
> 
> Enjoy the beginning of a cheesy, little piece of fluff story :)!

In the early month of June, on a fresh dawn of summer, Yuri Plisetsky caught himself a ride to practice with a price of buying some “appliances” for the two: Yuuri Katsuki and Viktor Nikiforov. He had staggered his way into the entrance of the express-store, hands wrapping his waist tightening the warmth within his favoured cat-print jacket to the cool indoor air.  
The bell rung as the doors opened aside him, his eyes already strung upon his bag when turning to the paired sliding doors.

“Shit.” Yuri murmured in a quiet tone as his shoulder collided with another. He turned instinctively in apology to the fragile weight swaying to the side. His free hand reached and grasped hold of the small wrist, balancing the figure’s stance. “Sor-“  
The word ‘sorry’ died as the young blond’s voice slurred upon his lost gaze. Stunned and enraptured within a pair innocent, deep chocolate-brown eyes shaking behind naturally long, thick lashes.

The eyes calmed and a gentle smile curved to the girl’s lips. Yuri eventually released his concerned hold from the stranger’s skin, hand brushing lightly to the warmth of the girl’s fingers. Her eyes glistened for a moment as he did so, like a spark almost, of something…yeah…something.

“I- Uh- sorry.” He attempted again, laughing with a hand ruffling his hair. “I was in a rush, stupidly…you- you okay?”

Yuri watched the girl stand before him giggling to his ramble. Her hair was a shade of ebony-brown…maybe darker, curling at the tips, just passing her shoulders. Freckles coated both cheeks, sharing that identical exotic dark shade. Still caught in a giggle, Yuri continued his study frowning slightly to the grey sweats hanging from her waist and sagging a little upon her ankles. A pair of navy blue converse, one a little odd to the other and a matching blue sweatshirt, white tee layered poking from beneath, collar overlapping the V of her crewneck.

The girl sighed to her erupting laughter wavering her hand to her purse. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to make things awkward, it’s just- you made me laugh for the first time today. Thank you. I need to go buy some milk now. I’ll…see you around, I guess.” She licked the bottom of her lip, cheeks still holding that soft grin of hers. No touch of makeup, sweats and all, carrying that relaxed gentle laugh.  
Yuri was lost for words. She, she was, he didn’t believe he was ever going to say it but, she was…gorgeous.

“Y-yeah. See you.” He stuttered, completely overwhelmed with the unexpected encounter.

Flicking a finger hastily towards the fridges behind she muffled a laugh again. That giggle, it was so damn sweet. Yuri punched himself mentally and turned slow in his stand, stepping towards the sliding doors, plastic bag in one hand, head kicking him in the ass for walking away.

“Hopefully, you don’t knock me around next time!” The voice called with the same heartfelt chortle following shortly after.

“I’ll try my best!” He echoed, rummaging through the bag in check he had bought every item. More a desperate search for another excuse to turn around. His feet dragged. He was so, so tempted. She was right there in that very thing-shop-gas station-whatever. Fucking hell. Yuri never felt so swayed himself.

The girl. The nameless beauty.

Shit.

 

He sighed as he popped the back door, voices ambushing his thoughts.

“Training is in six minutes, we need to– Yurio! Finally! W-what took you so long?”

The young Russian scowled to the cheer of his nickname, rolling his eyes to the Japanese as he slid into the back seat. He shrugged and threw the older Russian behind the steering wheel the plastic bag.

Viktor hummed as he ruffled through, singing a chime to each object the teen had correctly bought. A scrunch and a scuffle caught Yuri’s attention as Viktor leaned over placing the bag within the man’s lap beside. “Could you hold these?”

“Sure thing.” Yuuri replied without hesitation.

The man pressed his lips to the soft of the Japanese’s forehead and whispered a light ‘thank you’ in Russian.

“Gahhh. Not here please.” Yuri found himself complaining, sighing heavily, even when his mind felt elsewhere.

 

“You should have seen her! She- she was different, I tell you.” Yuri lowered his tone and shoved the phone closer to his ear with his right shoulder, hands digging through his bag in the locker room.

He had waited achingly slow for everyone to leave and start without him in desperate need of bro-talk. The second the couple had left last, smothering each other with quiet compliments in their new training gear…to Yuri they were just another pair of black sweats – he had unknowingly bolted for the bottom of his bag and dialed a contact.

“Yura. Are you coming down with something?” Otabek’s voice was unconvinced and Yuri wished to agree on similar terms, but he couldn’t just let this one go.

“Shut up and listen. She, Nameless Girl, was different.” Nameless Girl was his decided nickname, until he would one day, maybe find out. If he ever did. Otabek called out to the sudden silence, Yuri continued: “I don’t know how. But I can’t seem to explain it. Like she’s hot, but she’s not. Well she is. So hot. So fucking hot. But also, really cute. And sweet. And has the cutest laugh.” Yuri trailed off not realizing the nonsense he seemed to be blabbing out to his close friend. “I don’t even think she knew who I was! She didn’t scream or faint! She just laughed! Otabek. Laughed.”

A moment of silence buzzed.

“Mmm.”

“Mmm?”

“I need to study tonight. Could I come to yours?”

Otabek was changing the topic, Yuri could sense it. He grunted into the phone, lips tight as he thought. Eventually the boy clucked his tongue. “Yeah, whatever. I’ll help you, da?”

A huffed chuckle recoiled across the line. “Please, do. And, you see that girl again I expect to hear everything. Yes?”

“Beka, if I could say ‘da’ a million times I would. But dude, the hell if I’ll ever see her again. Anyway, I got training, Yakov is going to kill me. Later!”

“You’re too harsh on yourself, Yura. Later.”

A beep beep beep rung as Yuri pressed his thumb to the red button, ending the call as he trotted to the exit door still stuck in thought. Of her.

Nameless Girl.

 

“Yuratchka! Wherever in that mind of yours did you think it was okay to waste time?!” Yakov bellowed across the far end, hands pressing on the outer rink. “Get over here!”

Yuri skated forwards, enabling the heaven of ice beneath to guide him to the old fart. “What?” He grumbled as he skidded not much more than a head’s distance.

“What is wrong?” The older Russian asked, in a low tone. “You’re wobbling your jumps and your quads are lazy. What is this disastrous distraction?”

Did the man just yell for closer attention, all embarrassing annoyance for every other skater just to reel him and to discuss such things with Yakov, his coach. Ha! No chance. “I’m tired.” He lied, then turned away.

“Nyet. You’re not. What is it? Vitya?”

Yuri snorted to the now concerned eyes, hidden surrounded wrinkles. “Viktor? No. Course not. Jeez, let that dork bother my skating, is that a joke? Let their stupid, flirting asses giggle and do whatever they please, I’m done for the day.” The blond side stepped in his skates and gave a last nervous skate for the exit. Viktor had whined behind him, “Yurio~ Where are you heading off to?”

Blame puberty, Yuri thought. He didn’t understand the sudden outburst of a slur in his words. He needed that name, and needed to talk to someone who understood. Beka. Only three hours away. He steps continued to the locker room, shoving the pair of skates in his sports bag and throwing his weight upon the bench.  
His mind wondered, danced, searching for that laugh. That soft, sweet echo. Yuri let his eyes drift, head resting to the locker behind, hopelessly letting his neck flush to his ears in a rosy red.

 

Yuri swung his weight, one hand holding grip of the beige door frame. Yakov and Lilia were bickering in the kitchen, probably something minor and pointless. Or, could be about him. He shrugged to his thoughts and promptly mentioned to the two: “I rung up some pizza, Beka’s coming.” He dashed behind the hall before they could argue about skating, his diet, or whatever healthy meal Lilia had planned.

They had said nothing. That was, eerie.

He spun swiftly in his heels reemerging to the silence. Lilia held both slender hands on her hips, Yakov arms crossed.

His throat tickled. “Ah…about today…”

Lilia’s voice had spiked through his subtle not-wanting-explanation. “If you think you can flump your jumps like you did today and eat pizza, there must be a damn good reason.” She cocked a brow awaiting the teen’s answer.

Yuri leaned forwards slightly, pulling a face that read he couldn’t explain why. The women huffed and fluffed her hands in the air. “Boys! I am sick of them!” She added with a scowl towards the man beside her.

Yakov lifted a confused brow to the teen, Yuri laughed. The older Russian rubbed a hand at his forehead before suggesting: “I’ll call you down when the pizza is here.” The blond yelled a ‘thank you’ as he dashed down the hall again and upstairs. 

 

Otabek sighed boringly as he rolled afar from the text book, pages marked with highlighted blue and yellow. He lay stretched across the Russian’s bed, head dangling over the side, Yuri upside down in view.

The blond spun in his desk chair once more, reached a hand into the packet of chocolates and aimed at Otabek’s jaw. The young adult caught his action and nodded readied. Yuri launched the ball. A slight clink recoiled as the chocolate piece bounced off Otabek’s tooth.

Yuri burst a laughter as the Kazakh howled for a moment in pain. The chair suddenly slipped from beneath, a breath swooped from the Russian’s chest as his back hit the floor. Otabek looked across with a teased chortle.

“I guess I deserved that.” He implied as he sat up, hand rubbing at his back. “You still talking to Mila?” He asked as the young adult’s phone chimed.

He shrugged, ignoring the text. “Yeah, occasionally.”

“Yeah? Spill.”

Otabek’s face flashed a bright red, then faded to a gentle rose. He chuckled then raised a brow. “What about you, huh? Spill, Nameless Girl.”

Something caught Yuri’s breath. He, never thought about talking face to face with Beka about it. Well he had it coming, but did he prepare? No. His cheeks met the same shade Otabek’s had just been a second ago. Throwing his palms to cool his face he rambled: “Unbelievable. I can’t get her out of my mind, Beka! I couldn’t skate because of her! It was that laugh, that damn bloody laugh!” Arghh!”

Otabek listened to the boy’s amazement stuck within the labyrinth of his own feelings. He laughed as the blond came close to squealing in admiration a few times. He was pacing the floorboards, hands fumbling in the air, tangling his hair, at one point he tied it back, threw them to his pockets in his sweats, pulled at his cheeks. The young adult raised a hand, Yuri noticed and paused. “Are you ill or something?”

The desk chair had been replaced to is natural stand during his jumble, and he sunk his weight in to the fabric. “I don’t know. She is distracting. I need that name. Dammit. Maybe if I visit the express store every day then I could crash into her again?”

The Kazakh stared at the teen’s pondering eyes. “You’re crazy. It’s just one girl, Yura.”

“Ah-ah-ah. Don’t even start. She is not some girl, she-“ He whistled into the air, then rose as he could hear Yakov’s pizza-call downstairs. “She is, she has, no…” He spun rapidly cheeky grin from ear to ear, “…she has my heart,” he spat out embarrassingly, then ducked behind the door.

..

It had been a week – seven days! Without anything of Nameless Girl. Two days ago, Yuri had even quickly zipped out using the two dorks to drop him by the express-store again, just…to…check. They asked why and he replied with good snacks. She wasn’t there. Sadly.

Practicing had become an ache, he worked hard some days, others he slacked because of her. Distracted and lost, drifting slowly among the ice. Yuri also hadn’t studied the past four days, Lilia had noticed his quiet absence, as she usually helped with his home-schooling. Otabek had flown back to see his family, and Yuri skyped him every now and then, frustratingly bragging about his odd behaviour.

He was yet again, at another early evening of practice. Not distracted this time, determined even. Overnight, Yuri had come up with a transition that was missing and was skittishly desperate to give it a try. Yakov watched as he ran the program through several times, Viktor and Yuuri also.

“So, did it, ha, work? Was it okay?” He asked huffing and puffing out of breath.

The three exchanged a look. Yakov sincerely grumbled a nod, then whispered to the younger Russian. Yuri frowned. “What? Don’t tell Viktor, tell me! What is it?!”

Viktor lifted his chin as he untangled his arm from Yuuri’s hip, skidding a halt just before the blond. He began slow, guiding in circles around him. What was this? What was he doing? “Hey! If this is a mind game, stop!”

The Russian rounded another smooth circle, then leaned an arm on the boy’s shoulder. He nodded. Towards who? Yakov. Yuri hissed under his breath and shoved the balanced weight above him. “Get off! I’m not Katsudon. What are you doing anyway?”

“Where is she? Or he? I’m not the one to judge~ What do they look like? How did you two meet? Please, enlighten me.”

Yuri staggered back onto the ice…how? The ice tickled beneath him as the coldness seeped through his sweats. “Was it that easy to tell?”

“Oh~ So it is! Damn, I owe Georgi twenty.” Viktor offered a hand, Yuri took it. Once he was in his usual stand, Viktor continued. “You’ve had this weird, potential this past week when you weren’t somewhere else.” He winked. “Georgi watched you yesterday, quote it’s the power of young love unquote.”

“Ah.”

A slender, warm hand patted his head as Viktor chimed. “Well! Please tell, I want to hear all about this mystery person.”

The blond sighed, “It was a passing. I don’t even know her name. Probably never see her again in my life. Oh well.” He shrugged to the electric blue dazzling over him then pushed towards the exit.

The slicing of Viktor following quick behind was annoying. “Well, that was depressing! Jeez, Yura~ Heheh, all growing up because of some pretty girl~”

“Piss off, Nikiforov! Seriously! Blah blah blah about stupid, precious Katsudon or something, go do that.” He scowled to the man as he spun effortlessly, then spun back and stepped off the rink. He sat by the bench untying his laces as the three above him held their breaths, preventing their childish giggles.

As he rose his head, Mila was wavering him over pointing clueless at her phone. Beka. He nodded in response and gave that the best opportunity to take that as an escape, fast. He had slipped his sneakers on unbothered with the laces, tucking them within the sides and bolted, jumping to each bench. 'Help me' he mouthed to the scarlet-red haired girl.

“What’s biting your ass?” She asked as he huffed to the floor.

“They’re teasing me.”

She gave an understanding chuckle and showed her screen, Yuri read through the texts.  
“Yeah, and?”

“What do I reply with?” She whined. “You know him best. Please, I’ll even help with this tease just tell me what to type. I don’t want to make things awkward, Yuri. Yuri? Plisestsky?”

Yuri was long gone from her request. Eyes bulged over her shoulder, zoomed to the far side of the rink.

“Holy shit.”

Mila swayed back a step, “uh…Yuri?”

“Holy shit!” He repeated.

It was her.  
Right there.  
In front of his eyes.

Nameless Girl.

He blinked several times to his founding, just there. In reach, if he found the courage to force a step. Right there, sitting on the side bench, hair soft upon her shoulders, skin softly tanned beneath the yellow sun dress, hands tapping on a book in her hands. Her eyes glowing in awe towards the ice, she was watching…but who?

His eyes sneered to the rink: a few people left…mostly male. Damn. A sharp blond skating towards another, linking hands with a teenaged brunette. Phew. A few kids bundled as a group, possibly twelve – way too young. Thank the lord. Then there was two. A child…at a guess less than six, similar chocolate head dawdling in slow figure eights. The other, a gingered male teen leaning against the side. Not in her view. And slack.

Yuri laughed to himself, then apologized to Mila but, he had ‘growing up’ – as Viktor called it – things to do.

It was her. He couldn’t believe it.

It was the girl, the bitch – beautiful bitch who had his head swooning this past week. He cursed to himself and took that step.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just one chase after another,  
> who is brave to stop and confront?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My internet connection died while editing this, hheart-attack alert. Jeez, phew
> 
> Let's just say I got bored...and...felt an urge to post chapter 2 ;)

Yuri walked. Each step felt heavy and slow but extremely desperate. Almost too desperate. He hadn’t even thought how he would approach. Shit. Shitshitshitshit. He was so close, just round the corner and follow the benches and she was there. He rubbed his hands at his thighs, palms sweating, nervous. Dammit.

He swerved to his left in his pace, leaped a row above and continued. Just plop gently next to her, keep it casual, but don’t frighten her, he kept telling himself, until he was there.

She hadn’t heard or noticed him yet. Her hair a cloud of brown, soft and fluffy. He bit his lip from the urge of reaching out to it. Yuri took a sharp inhale and eased down next to her, his knee brushed hers and he felt the panic of skin near skin, too close, quickly and unnoticeably scuffling over.

In a swift act of thought, he whipped his skates to the floor – luckily he’d brought them along and began preparing the pair as if he were to skate again. Casual, just keep it casual. “Hey.” Hey? Really? That’s all. No actually, good. Fine. It was okay. Because she was staring at him with the most entrancing pair of darkened brown.

“Well, hello.” She chimed, intrigued to the sudden familiar guest. She cocked her head back sightly an arched a brow, “I must say I’m glad I haven’t been shoved yet.”

Yuri huffed a laugh, she joined after. He threw both hands in the pocket of his black hoodie, hiding the nerves. “Wasn’t really my intention in the first place.” He replied, raising both brows as he tilted his head towards hers.

The girl let a stiff chuckle within her own nerves and hung her head low. She turned back to the rink, eyes finding a spark. It sent his gut swirling. Better not be that stupid-lazy-red-head. His eyes drifted to her collar bone and shoulders bare. His head fluttered a little. He grunted his eyes back to the pair of skates removing the risk of being a horny teenage-ass and glancing at her chest, that fitted so perfectly with the sun dress, just loose- Dammit, stop it.

“So, you skate?” He asked briefly.

The beaming glare in her eyes faded, “ah, no. My brother, he does. I take him here.”

Yuri nodded and found his mouth betraying him. “Ah, the little one? He’s good.”  
He instinctively pinched himself within his pocket, completely admitting he’d being watching, stalking almost. But, it was true. He was reasonably good, Yuri had observed for a while. The boy had begun slow with the figure-eight warm ups then charged fast for a quad, landed it smooth and perfect balance for a junior.

The girl, still nameless was smiling towards him. Close to a smirk, “you’ve been watching I see.”

A heat surfaced his cheeks. He wriggled his nose at his embarrassment, then dived for another question. “How old is he?”

“Just turned seven.” Her hands intertwined and squeezed a little, Yuri noticed. Kind of, worried. Her knuckles turned a pale white. Her eyes shifted towards his again and Yuri quickly flicked his eyes to the ice. 

“He admires you, y’know.”

The blond returned his stare, stunned. She knew…who he was…and she didn’t panic. He leaned forwards with his chest in interest, hands against the bench. “You- you knew?”  


The girl chuckled with a sadness in her eyes. “Yep.” Her tone was cracking, searing at his heart. He barely knew the teenage girl but something…something was off. He avoided his own emotion and returned his eyes to the ice. 

 

The couple observed carefully, commentating each assumed say, holding their breaths each time the two teenagers met eyes.

“She’s gorgeous. Poor boy.” Viktor had added.

Yuuri leaned to the man’s ear, “no doubt. Explains these past few days.”

Yakov sighed behind them. “Just let the youth develop without his parents-not-parents overwatching. You’re all as bad as each other.”

Viktor gave a puppy-eyed gaze over his shoulder. “It’s adorable, Yakov. You must see.”

“Take a photo even.” Yuuri chirped. “No, actually don’t do that. He’ll murder us in our sleep.” His skin shivered cold as he pictured the angry blond. “Yeah. Most definitely don’t do that.”

Mila stormed up towards the three, both bothered and excited. “That small child ditched my needed help with Otabek and is now talking up some girl. Who does he think he is, the little shit.”

The older Russian drew an arm forwards and pulled the young adult close. “But look at him. He’s laughing. Mila, just take this moment as a baby step.”

“She’s probably just some fan he finds hot.”

“Mila. Just because the boy didn’t help you with your own basic flirting doesn’t give you the right to bag on his love life.” Yakov had grumbled, now standing with the three, joining them in their exposed parent-like surveillance.

 

“If you keep drooling like that I might have to slap you.” Yuri had blurted out. The girl shifted her attention to him in confusion. He desperately needed something to remove his lips. Right now, before he said another stupid thing. “Your eyes sparkle when you watch him, your brother. If you love it so much why are you holding back?” He regretted the second each world poured out. Her eyes drifted off, a burning in her distance. Her hands grasped gently at her dress above her knees.

She pulled a tight look to his, lips parting softly to speak.

“Did you see me? Did ya? Did ya?” It was her brother. Racing towards with excitement, small skates in each hand. A lighter shade of brown reflected his eyes, he gaped towards the girl then linked with Yuri’s.

He froze.  
His eyes darted, dropped one of his skates even. The boy scurried in his stand, picking the skate from the floor then threw a huge grin to his sister. “Dude! It’s Yuri Plisetsky!” The smile fell off his face and he frowned. “What are you doing sitting with that guy? You’re not pretty enough.”

Both teenagers laughed. Yuri laughed a second after she did, like an accepted permission.

The kid bounced up to Yuri, “dude! You’re so cool!”

The blond huffed a grin himself, blown away by the ecstatic squeal in his voice.

Licking his lips excitedly, the boy then calmed himself slowly, after a threatened glare from his sister. “Um, could you, would it be okay if you could sign my skate?”

“You got a marker?” Yuri replied to the eager cheer.

“So cool!” He raced to his bag and began digging through.

The still unknown beauty sitting aside reached for her brother. “Peter you don’t need to, Yuri I’m sorry, he doesn’t need to-“

Yuri shook his head, resting a soft touch on her forearm – a usual thing he did with parents to reassure them it was okay, but with her, his heart was beating too fast for his own health. Her eyes blinked softly, he followed and quickly mumbled a gentle argument. “No, please, its fine. He’s a cool kid and carries a lot of potential.”

Peter danced in his stand and shuffled his way to his idol. Yuri took the skate and marker, scribbling his signature and a smiley-face on the outer side. The boy held it in both hands eyes wide, amazed by the skate – as if brand new. “Woahh!!! Feena are you seeing this?! He signed it! He signed it! He signed it!”

Yuri was once…lost…again. Feena.

Her eyes widen and her lips slammed tight, seemed she didn’t want that revealed. “Peter, enough.” She turned her weight slightly, studying the blond’s shimmer in his eyes to the floor. “Uh, sorry, Yuri. I should take him home, but thank you. It was nice to see you again.”

Feena.

For a moment, he felt as if he wasn’t breathing. Her face, personality, small taunts and giggles, her name. Everything so sweet, pure, gorgeous. Yuri could feel her stare but he didn’t mind, he was too stuck to care. Wait- she said she was leaving? When would he see her again?

Peter complained for a short second, then jumped to a thought, eyes lighting up as if their own light-bulbs. Whatever it was, Yuri was hoping it kept her here for a while longer. “Feena pleaseeee. One more question?” She nodded - unpleased - towards the sulking child. “Yuri…is…um…Viktor and Yuuri around?”

“Oh, god.” Feena had slipped.

Yuri himself unintentionally scoffed. The boy met his annoyed sneer and laughed, a cheeky-little-brother kind of laugh. The blond cringed hard within his veins…but, if Feena was staying, he was taking. “Yeah, they’re around. You wanna see them? I bet you do.”

“Yes! Please!”

The female beside Yuri looked pale, “Hey, you alright?” He asked tone quiet and close. Too close, dammit.

“I’ll stay. You two go ahead.” She sliced through his throat. Her words were dull and a shadowed sadness swallowed behind.

Her brother noticed the tension, a gasp slipped. “Sis! I’m sorry! I forgot! Please, I want you to come, I can help – carry something, but please come, you love them!”

“Shut it, Peter.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean too. I forgottt.” Peter whined, his eyes watering.

Yuri was concerned in so many ways, was it him? Or Viktor? Even the stupid Katsudon? He wanted to know, everything and anything about her, even the haunts that hurt her. He closed his eyes – he hated what he was about to do. But he needed her. Stupid, stupid hormones.

Slowly, and gently he placed her hand in his. “Feena. They would love to see you, they love their fans, as do I. Please.” Every word except her name slithered off his tongue like a snake. Speaking highly of the couple; ewewewew.

Her eyes glistened at his, his heart sprung from his chest to the floor and lay beating upon his sneaker. She nodded solemnly and reached a hand to Peter.

Her brother stepped awkwardly forwards and grabbed her hand, locking his small fingers around her wrist. The warmth of her fingers slipped from Yuri’s. She wobbled as she rose, then soon found a balance that seemed comfortable.

As his previous mood had consumed Yuri a little, he realized he never looked further than her chest, as to what he just witnessed that very second as she stood, his head pounded and regretting every single fucking sentence that had being spoken through his voice. Especially the ones about skating. Such a dickhead.

Her left leg, a prosthetic build, a colour of skin with calf of a steel rod, similar blue converse designed for the shoe.

He wasn’t bothered about her, or the part she was most insecure about: actually, made her seem more wonderful towards his heart. But he was so entirely pissed of himself, his reckless actions. The bump-in at the express. Yuri struggled to find the words how disgusted he felt, from himself.

Her cheeks were a soft pink, blushing in shame. He noticed and shook his head, he kneeled affront of her little brother. “You grab all your things, Feena’s too. I’ll take her, yeah?”

The young Russian nodded happily and disappeared. Feena stumbled slightly to the swift whip behind her. Yuri stood throwing his hand towards her arm, again balancing her weight. She grunted and he sighed. “I feel terrible.”

The girl he now knew the name of, frowned. “Why? You had no idea.”

“I feel like I should have.” He guttered his voice, placing himself next to her as she slowly stepped forwards.

“Then, I would have called you out as a perve, my friend.” She elbowed his side.

“Ahh! D-don’t.” He said with a sudden bite in his tone.

“Oh my god. Yuri Plisetsky is ticklish? Unbelievable.” She rolled her eyes and flickered them to the boy beside her. 

 

Feena met the aqua-green staring too fondly towards her. As much as she admitted to herself it was wrong, if felt so right it drove her blood insane, rushing a gush to her cheeks.  
Who would have thought a teenage boy who held a reputation as angsty piece of punk, could look so soft from one smile? A smile that only felt dear to her of course, as if she was the only girl allowed to witness that. That generous, child inside. A kitten. Who, wore a costume of a tiger. 

 

Viktor nuzzled his cheek into the snore beside him. Yuuri had dozed off cuddling into his side, shoulders covered with The Russian’s coat. Viktor hummed to the warmth. The nationals were to arrive upon schedule soon, that meant Yuuri back home and Viktor with…  
His eyes trailed off as the short blond came to mind. Adjusting his view to the left a little more, he jumped.

Yuuri woke eyes blinking slowly, “are you alright?”

“He’s holding her hand and soon to be here with some child.”

The Japanese snapped his eyes and sat up abruptly, he muffled a snort. “Geez, how long has it been? Surely he hasn’t got a son already?” He gasped sarcastically to the Russian’s bold glare towards the encountering three.  
“Relax, he’s not even holding her hand. Their arms are just linked…oh…that’s why.”

Viktor grunted, then in a soft whisper. “What is happening to our brat, Yuuri. Maybe she is just a fan, there is no way, ha, no way he would be this kind towards a girl~"

Yuuri shuffled his weight closer, reaching out to the slender hand intertwining their fingers. “Could be his way of flying to Japan.”

The blue met the cheesy hazel and grinned, “could be.” He agreed, leaning close pressing a slow peck to his forehead. The couple hummed as Viktor pulled back, then: “Well, I feel we have some involvement in this. Shall we?” 

 

Peter giggled behind the two, tone riddled with a high-pitched excitement. “They’re right there! Right there! Feena, right there! Ahhhh!” His heels were spinning as he skipped, twisting his small body from side to side.

“Oh, don’t worry. He looks up to you more. Trust me.” Feena mentioned in a teased whisper.

Yuri glanced down, smiled, then reached to the older two just before them. He probably looked stupid – nice stupid as their sheepish giggles and their ridiculous little happy sneers blinded him. Gah.

The boy froze, turned to his sister for permission. She nodded and he swiveled his weight a little closer. Viktor had kneeled to his level, “well, hello.”

“Haaaa…h-hi. Peter.” The boy stretched his free hand, Viktor took it. “Nice to meet you, Peter.”

“Woahhh! This is so cool!” He exclaimed jumping a step back.

Feena had sat to the nearest bench, Yuri quickly strode towards Yuuri reaching for his bag. He returned, figuring best to stand near the rink wall rather than sit beside her again.

Viktor noticed the pair of skates tied together by the laces in one of Peter’s hand. Pointing a hand to one he asked, “Do you skate, Peter?”

Peter’s cheeks shaded a pink, “Uh…y-yes.”

The older Russian shuffled close, “I bet you’re better than Yuri here.”

“What?! No way! He is so good! You too! And Yuuri!” 

 

The five had continued their delightful chatter for a while longer. Feena introduced herself to the older two. They all shared a few laughs and teases towards the blond. Peter gained a bonus of getting photos with each.

Yuri now stared out to the city of St. Petersburg as it bypassed in a whip of blur behind the window. Yuuri was driving, Viktor had called someone through Bluetooth – Yuri didn’t pay attention, too lost and too deep for his own good.

“He even got her number. Yuuri and I may have had something to do with it, but you should have been there. You missed a legendary moment.” Viktor had talked, rambling to his own pleasure.

“Pfft. Yura, you’re growing dude.” Otabek answered.

“He’s not even listening, wow, deep he is.”

“You’re joking? Yura! Snap out of it! I don’t approve of this new you.”

Viktor turned in his seat, snapping his fingers to the young Russian’s nose. The blond flinched and wavered an annoyed hand to the man. “What?”

“Ah, Yura. So, you’re alive. Nameless Girl, she got a name yet?”

“Beka?” He shifted forwards confused, “You called Beka?! Of course you would. Yes Beka, she has a name. Feena.”

There was a snort through the connection. “The way her name just rolled off your tongue was concerning. You weren’t kidding, were you?”

“Huh?!”

Otabek cleared his throat. “Quote she has my heart unquote.”

Yuuri braked instantly at a red light. “You said that?” He burst a short laughter, Viktor joined him.

..

“Yuraaaa, are you studying or are you dreaming?” Otabek had asked through Skype later that evening.

The Ipad was pressed to the wall, Yuri sitting in front resting an elbow upon his notes, chin resting across his knuckles. “Hmm? What? Sorry, I…what?”

The voice chuckled through the screen. “God, look at you. Page fifty-four, paragraph three: What year was Otabek Altin born in?”

Yuri scrambled quickly flipping at his textbook. “What? Shit, I haven’t read it yet, dammit. Wait…what? You- you son of a bitch.” He sighed to the smirk beaming at him. “I’m just waiting.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know what the two dork-brains told you, but- she got my number, from them of course. I never got hers…so it’s a waiting game.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The Russian snagged at the tips of his hair – close length to his shoulders. “What if she doesn’t? Or does and just brags about me being Yuri-Fricken-Plisetsky? What if…ah…dammit…I got to stop. Beka save me.”

“Looks like you’re on your own there.” Otabek tapped a pen to his paper. “C’mon, focus. You got that test next week.”

..

Feena Kiselev. Mostly Russian, partly Irish as the relation to her great grandpa.  
But he didn’t need to know that.

Yuri Plisetsky. He. Yuri Plisetsky. Him.

‘Currently, seventeen years of age. Held gold at the Worlds – aged fifteen, then charged up to the Worlds once again: placing second – aged sixteen.’

‘Outstanding Agape Performance by Russia’s new young champion, Yuri Plisetsky!

‘Yuri Plisetsky swearing at a former competitor in defense of his fans.’

‘Interview with the Russian Punk: does he really hate Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Kastuki?’

She clicked on the link expanding another tab, the video played:  
There he was. Two, maybe one year younger. The blond rolled his eyes as his coach, Yakov muttered something in his ear. The camera didn’t catch what but it bubbled a chuckle from Feena.

A microphone was placed into view, the teen leaned forwards listening. Feena pursed her lips. His brow was creased and licked the bottom of his lip as he was in deep concentration. Extremely attractive to the teenage girl.

“So, Plisetsky, how do you feel you went tonight?”

“Uh, yeah pretty good. Better than Katsudon I’ll give you that.”

The reporter laughed briefly before asking another. “How do you manage to keep up with all the training and competitions, you’re quite young?”

He wavered a hand to the camera, “No, I’m home-schooled actually. During competitions are in hold I stay with Yakov, not that any of it’s my choice. Then back home with my grandpa every now and then.” There was a faint red gush upon both cheeks.

Feena reflected the blush upon her own gaze. She shook her head – no. She wouldn’t let herself fall for this boy.

The reporter continued, “This relationship with both Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki, you really hate them? Or is it more of a brother-friendship?”

The young Russian wobbled a brow, sneering through his teeth-  
She forcefully slammed the laptop shut. He was too cute. And that was not good. Not for her. The girl nibbled on the inside of her lip in struck glare to her phone. She could- it was right- no. nononono.

The couple had slyly tricked her into giving Yuri’s number. She hadn’t noticed of course, not until the boy’s thigh standing across from her had began ringing simultaneously as her’s was dialing in her own palms.  
Now it was within reach, his number, him. She had held doubts for the past two days. Pointlessly tapping at her phone in delay of one text. But there was those concerns, do and don’ts. If they did start talking and it carried…further, would she be able to handle press? What would her friends think? What would her own brother think of her? And the hate? Paparazzi?

“What if he thought I was a gold digger?” She muttered to herself. Feena had been so caught up with the small fears it hadn’t dawned on her of her biggest flaw. She glanced to the flannel pair of pale, blue pyjama shorts, blank eyes towards what was now her left leg. She brushed a fingertip across the scared tissue of skin sneaking just of view beneath the fabric, a fuzz trickled each nerve. She still wasn’t used to it.

A month from today would conclude as a year from her accident. A terrible, unfortunate accident. Feena whimpered to her pillow as she parted the cloud of having to tell Yuri about everything, hoping she never had to but knowing she wanted to, and desperately.

..

The day it happened, the morning before his test, he’d never felt such fierce determination other than one time – when Katsudon was on decision of retiring. Yuri had leaped from his bed failing instantly rising from the floor entangled within his duvet.

“She texted me!!” He screamed, to who? Anyone.

Yakov stumbled through the door a minute later, chest buckling in panic. “Yuratchka are you alright?! What was the ‘thud’ and the screaming?!”

The teen was ecstatic, flinging his phone recklessly with one hand. “She texted me. Texted me.” He said in a hoarse whisper.

The older Russian released a sigh of relief and annoyance. “Pull your head out of your ass, boy. She is just a girl. Any of this interrupts your skating...then…you- just don’t be a Vitya. You hear me?”

Yuri twirled in his feet, dashing up cheerfully to the man. “She texted me.”

“Yes, seems she did.” Yakov huffed wavering an I-don’t-want-anything-to-do-with-this hand into the air before leaving the stunned Russian.

The blond was left standing wrapped in his duvet, eyes paused on the lock-screen. After a moment of excite and nerves tingling, he eased himself upon the edge of his bed and unlocked the phone.

(8:23) Hey, it’s Feena. Peter wanted to thank you again for what you did last week, it was really kind of you. Thank you, Yuri.

(9:04) Hoping this is actually your number otherwise this is really awkward...

'Thank you, Yuri'. His breathing muffled as a heated gush reddened his cheeks. He stared. He breathed once more. Then he tapped.

(9:17) Yep. My number. And, your brother is pretty cool so you’re welcome. Tell him I said he is cooler than his sister.

But not prettier, he thought.

He paced the room a few times, changed into a fresh change of clothes – black jeans, casual over-sized white tee. His phone buzzed twice as he threw a black, cotton jacket over top.  
With a beat in his chest he dived for the mobile.

(9:31) :(

(9:31) Meanie.

Yes, yes he was.  
Yuri ignored the aching grin stretched from ear to ear, skin begging for the foolish hormones and such things called emotions to come to an end. He figured today was going to be good and replied with another text.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, by the way from now on when texting is involved: key below. 
> 
> Yuri  
> Feena  
> (Sometimes) **Otabek**


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We have ourselves a date ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I deeply apologize for not posting! I've had exams recently and just began semester 2 of my school year, yikes. So, you could say everything is a little chaotic. 
> 
> But, that's okay. I promise, I will try and update asap <333
> 
> Enjoy ;)!

While spending most of his time in practice and competitions, Yuri, continued the brief warming contact with the girl, Feena. He would hate to admit that he had changed a little, just a little. By heart or action or even attitude, it was something. The two dorks questioned him from time to time: snatching at his phone, stalking any hints through his Instagram posts, arriving before dawn to early practices. Each time, each prod – Yuri would huff in a roll of his eyes. It was his life not theirs.

The last time he had a heart-racing encounter with her was four days ago at the local frozen yogurt with an accompany of Otabek and Mila. However, the Diva Of Scarlet Red never seemed to show her face – an apparent emergency meeting.

The group had seated within a booth, Otabek sighed in disbelief as he placed his spoon to the plastic container. “I still can’t believe Yuri Plisetsky has a girlfriend.

The two younger Russian’s glanced towards the young adult then to each other.

“We’re not dating!”

A smirk of experience crept upon Otabek’s face. Yuri tsked to the man’s woven early summer sweater and plain, vanilla yogurt taste. “I still can’t believe you thought Mila was actually going to come. She bailed on you man.”

His grin faded followed by a blank shrug. “Yeah, she’s been like that lately.”

Feena pressed her lips to the pale blue jeans she’d thrown on that morning. She shivered within her anxiety shifting her weight a little over from the blond near her, and leaned forwards. “What makes you think that?”

The dark eyes blinked at hers, “family emergencies” he whispered with an added wink.

“Right.” She softly laughed, then turned her unsteady to the navy-blue jacket aside with a giggle. 

 

Yuri remembered that giggle: the way she turned her chin in a gentle swift, finger twirling through a dark curl, eyes trembling with uncertainty until they met his.

He rose his weight in a slow grunt. The room dimly lit by a late sunset. The teen had spent his afternoon resting his mind – instead finding himself lost within something more peaceful, a someone. At least it wasn’t as embarrassing as his previous ponder ending in a teasingly, irritating hard-on.

The young Russian threw on a black sweater hovering below the waistband of his sweats, sleeves consuming the entirety of both hands – Beka’s. With a thought of his close friend he reached for his phone to the journey to St. Petersburg evening breeze.

“Sup?”

“I thought of her again.”

A pant echoed through his ear, then a stomping of runners in the distant background. He was running. At this time? Idiot–

“So?”

Yuri leaned against the wooden slats of Yakov’s front gate. “She’s getting to me Beka.”

“Ask her out?” He huffed in the crackled connection. “You know she would say yes.”

When Yuri didn’t answer Otabek’s voice did: “Dude. You go to. Don’t doubt yourself just because you’re Yuri Plisetsky. Feena likes you, man, not the celebrity.”

The Russian hesitated for a moment. “Gahhhhhhh.” He sighed, releasing all negativity that pinched his stomach. “Okay, fine I will. Next time I see her.”

..

The dip of his skate to the ice startled him. It was Nationals and he was competing, in Moscow. Yuri had just eased onto the white before realizing his head wasn’t where is was supposed to be. He looped the rink stiff with a blank wave to the crowd. Cheers and cries of his name were blurred, through one ear and out the other.

He exhaled, slow and calm. It was game time.

The music started, a fierce beat – with a swift movement from his arms and upper-body, the skates guided his step sequence.

He charged through the performance from memory rather than emotion and purpose. Or whatever he had planned for it, he just couldn’t- his mind. Dammit!

A tickle from his knee itched, he had wobbled his first quad. 

 

A gust of heat and sweat recoiled to his face as he panted to the ice, breathing, thinking, retracing, the crowd still distant.

He gave up from the sudden throbbing in his head, it was already full of her, any flicker of his routine scraped his scalp. Surely, he flumped or held too stiff of a figure or…or...or wait, he told himself. Just wait.

Yakov grumbled as Yuri slumped onto the bench within the Kiss and Cry. “Yuratchka.”

Yuri caved within himself, burying his face within the cool of his team jacket. He hadn’t bothered to put it on yet, still sitting in his costume. “Mmm?” He replied after a moment of silence.

“Someone’s here to see you.”

“I know, I screwed up. Just tell the press to piss off.” He mumbled, whining into the material.

A broad palm braced his shoulder. “Yuratchka, you were outstanding. Phenomenal. And the press isn’t too far away. But, you have a guest, she’s outside the exit door – to the left.”

The teen raised his head both eyebrows lifted. “What?”

The older Russian barked as he bolted off, presumably about waiting till after the press. But- she was here. Did she watch? His ears lingered a heat, heart racing, palms slapping at his cheeks in an urge to relax. With a quick shuffle of wriggling both arms into is jacket, and a lunge for his sweats within his bag, his legs carried onward to the locker room exit door.

He paused, momentarily tripping over his toes with a swift save – he’d forgotten to spray. What if he smelt- what if. Oh god. His heels danced, spinning back towards the rows of seats, eyes narrowing to his bag. A soft tingle on his right shoulder sprung him backwards.

In his jolt, a familiar voice shrieked. “Sorry! Did I scare you? I am so sorry!”

A sigh of relief cleared his nerve. The blond twisted a soft gaze over his shoulder as he turned, glazing over a generous brown.

Her fingertips covered her lips in apology, hair tucked within a gentle-pink beanie, curled tips bouncing upon her shoulders, freckles seeping through a rose blush, body wrapped within a knee-lengthened, unbuttoned white coat, grey cotton dress beneath. And, still regular pair of converse. Feena’s eyes reflected a galaxy; so much beauty one would never come to understand.

The girl’s hand reached for his hair tracing the braids along his ponytail. Yuri hummed to the coo of her fingers brushing over each bump and fold. The heated numb scaled his jaw, her palm resting to his cheek.

A slight gasp slipped from the brunette and she removed her hand. “I- I don’t know what, I- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-“

“Feena,” he cut her off in a tone so clear. He never wished for her to stop. The girl before him stood stunned, gazing at him in a hope of some need. A need he wasn’t quite understanding himself.

In memory of the promise he had made to Otabek, and partly himself – he edged forwards: “Feena, come with me.” His voice whispered in such a hurry, equal to his grasp on the girl’s wrist, tugging her softly deeper into the locker room.

As the skin of his thigh sensed a near bench, he sat, remaining hand in hand with one of Feena’s. He stretched out his free hand in request to take her other. She accepted. He now sat with both her hands within his palms. They were achingly soft and tender – no tense or panic.

“Feena…” He sulked. Every thought and planned had now vanished – poofed. Blank. He had blanked. 

 

She whimpered to the call of her name. Her heart pounding – louder than her own screaming at her mind. She was crazy. Crazy about him, crazy for even falling for him, crazy for flying to Moscow and crazy for being this close to him.

She’d planned to visit, short and quick, then run. Run for the hills. Back to Peter, and a dodge the need of her heart. However, he held such a thrill in his eyes – a flicker of energy, then she was hobbling after him.

The girl studied for a moment as the blond hung his head low to her hands. His forehead on her knuckles. Her skin. Her right knee buckled. She felt weak, hopeless and every cell to a close numb. Slowly, she lowered her left leg. A thud echoed the room, catching the male’s attention. He raised and blinked, she followed, his breathing wavering across her cheek. They were…so…too…c-close.

Feena pulled back an inch, a click of her leg-not-leg had her stumbling forwards into his chest. Within the fall he had caught her hands gripping at her waist. She kept her face to his jacket, too embarrassed to share contact. His body rocked as a light chuckle ruptured, “are you stuck?”

With little least of her awkward position she formed a fist, punching playfully to his arm. After a tease and a minor complaint, she sunk further, burying herself to his embrace, a collision of peppermint and sweat.

“I watched your program today,” she mumbled.

His arms were enclosed to her back, the soft of his knuckles rubbing over her coat – a slow infinity of figure eights. “Did you?” he whispered to her ear.

She nodded, twisting her head slightly to lessen the chance of a slur. “It was beautiful…breathtaking almost, kind of like you felt you had to do something, but you were scared of the outcome…and there was a fight to hope you’d win.”

A moment of silence stung before Yuri cautiously placed his hands under her arms, lifting her to her natural balance again. This time, the boy joined Feena in her stand. One hand removed from her waist to beside the heat of her cheek, brushing a strand of curls behind her ear. His face caved close as his fingertips pressured a little to her nape. His lips were upon her temple, pressing ever so delicately with an unspoken trance of a trillion butterflies fluttering within her stomach each second.

Yuri leaned back, then forwards again resting his head against hers. Feena’s fingertips nipped at his jacket, craving that gap dare to be closed. Her breathing pattern was sync with his, their breathing meeting each other every huff that wracked their bodies. Yuri seemed as flustered as she did. She just hoped she was right and they shared the same emotion. 

 

The Russian’s heart cried at the fairy tease to his chest, her fingers pulling him a slight closer. He wanted more – more than he would have possibly imagined, but control was important. Feena was fragile and unbelievably gorgeous as a human being, he didn’t wish to ruin that.

In this moment of whatever it was, Yuri finally accepted the fact that his brain clearly understood such delirious actions of Viktor after the banquet – Yuuri had driven him insane, emotionally craved and clingy. Everything, kind of, just, linked.

To the exceed of his thoughts, the blond guided his hands to soft of the girl’s back, tugging her forwards into a hug that crammed his heart. Pound after pound, beat after beat. Feena snuggled to his chest, tracing her own arms around his body and returning that hold.

Every bone groaned, a part of him pleading for more of this warm sensation, the other a scattering through his body repeating to remain calm – no stupidity, ignore the hormones. He maneuvered one hand from the small of her back to her head, caressing with the few strands of her that poked beneath her beanie. He caught a glimpse of her eye near his thumb, closed and relaxed. A heat touched his face, he’d forgotten he had kissed her – on her forehead, with his lips. He- he never…when did he have the courage? Was it the adrenaline from his program? Or her words, spoken a soft truth…carried such perfection to what he had hoped his program to portray. He never thought…that she would…know…it made him need. He had a need. Ew. No. He was not the type to play cliché-summer-love-boy. Gross.

Yuri tethered back a step, brushing his hands along her arms until they gained a lock in her palms. Her eyes flickered from their sudden hold to his eyes. He tugged on her hands as he began to speak, “Feena, what are you…when are you…free- when are you free?”

The girl slipped one hand back to her lips in struggle to contain a chuckle. She nodded through her failure – an exotic, soft giggle erupting. “Are you asking me out on a date, Yuri?” She raised a brow to his ponder over her.

When her chortle calmed, she inhaled then replied with a concerned twinkle in her eye. “W-what about the press?”

Yuri noted the whispered choke in her tone, sighing himself he mentioned, “We can go places the press won’t expect or-“

“’Places’?” Her lips were curved in a taunt, Yuri shrieked. Her throat cackled, “Don’t look at me like that, gosh. I’m not saying no, I’m answering a yes. It’s just fun teasing you.”

Without notice, he was grinning. Effortlessly and hopelessly towards her, she fluttered her eyelashes then sucked on the bottom of her lip through a blush. He kept gazing, there was nowhere else he’d rather wonder his most monstrous thoughts towards, just her, only her.

A roar of excite slithered into the room catching his current surroundings. “So that’s a yes then? I have to go, Yakov would be thundering on my ass. But, that’s a yes?”

Feena leaned forwards slightly, eyes darting a temptation. She hissed to herself then met his beam again. “Yes, Yuri. That’s a yes.” Yuri blinked, several times to ensure and repeat every word she had just said. Her hand had crept to his arm, squeezing it gently for his attention. “Go, Yakov and your fans must be waiting. You kind of left them.” 

 

“What are booming at boy?” Yakov had bellowed into his ear. He flinched.

“What the hell? Why scream into my ear?” He had whined back, shouting over the music from Viktor’s current free program. “When’s that dork going to retire anyway?”

The old Russian leaned close. “You missed quite a show. He mentioned just before he went on, this is his last year.”

“You don’t seem so happy about it.”

“Of course not, Yuratchka.”

Yuri nodded, he turned back to his bag when Yakov gripped his arm.

“Did you talk with the girl?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you, old fart. Like you’d know anything.” Both brows raised from his coach, he sighed wriggling his arm free. “Fine. I asked her out. D-date wise.”

“Mhm.”

“She said yes.” 

 

“Mila called me today.” Otabek had mentioned as he placed a backpack to the floor of the blond’s room.

Yuri was cross-legged upon his bed, lost out the window – eyes watching the orange rays of sunset.

“She told me things. Feena things.”

His hair whipped over his shoulder as he turned, scattering his weight to the young adult. “How? I only told Yakov?”

“Yakov? She said she heard it from Viktor?”

“Huh?! The old bastard! Now everyone knows.” He folded his arms, breath fluffing few strands that covered his face.

Otabek eased his figure against the white desk behind. “Where you planning to go?”

Yuri tapped a finger to his knee, “I haven’t thought that far, yet.”

“What about a museum or something?”

“That requires a lot of walking. And sounds boring. I cannot believe-“

Otabek raised a hand, instantly silencing the rubbish that he were to blab. “Girls like that stuff, Yura. I’m not talking historic one’s, unless she likes those – I’m mean art museums. There’s a really great one down-“

Yuri frowned for a moment considering the possibility. But again, “Beka. Like I said, it requires a lot of walking.”

The young adult stared to the floor, then murmured a small whisper when he caught his lead. Yuri hissed to himself. He wanted the date to be special, not an awkward of discomfort for her. The frozen yogurt corner shop she liked, but can’t do it again. Not twice. Especially in a row. That would just be lame. Effortless.

“What about…that park…the one down north?”

The Kazakh raised a brow to the blond’s pondered scowl. His lip twitched before his arms flung up.

“You mean the one with all the filth-mouthed scumbags hanging around?! Are you serious? Beka, what the hell.”

Otabek groaned off the desk, rubbing to sooth the throb at his waist. “The council fixed that up just recently, it’s actually a really nice place. Only if you had a pair to check it out.”

Yuri jumped to his feet, “do not tell me to grow a pair. How would you even know I would like that place, let alone Feena.” His arms folded across his chest, lips pouting in a slight annoyance.

A grin appeared before him, “I’d like to believe you would enjoy it. Feena too.”

He progressed Otabek’s words, humming as he did so. He nodded solemnly, lifting his eyes to the head above him. “Thanks, Beka.”

Yuri squinted his eyes when a smile followed his words of appreciation, missing the shimmer that blinded the Kazakh’s sight. When Yuri pulled himself from joy he noticed the sudden flush upon the man’s cheeks. His legs dragged forwards in concern, palm pressing to Otabek’s forehead. “Dude, you’re burning…you- you feeling alright?”

A hand flicked up shoving Yuri’s afar. “Whatever it is, I don’t want it affecting you. I, I should leave. Later, Yura.” His body pressed forwards, sending the younger Russian back a step.

“Ah, yeah…okay. Hope you feel better soon.”

Otabek paused with a hand balanced on the door frame, he glanced side on, head low. “And Yura. Feena will love it, take her there.” With his last word his figure slipped behind the door, Yuri blinked – confused with a slight excitement to their date. 

 

With a brief goodbye to the older two – Yakov and Lilia, Otabek rode a few miles forcing himself to pull over and removing his head gear for a breath. Yuri was right, he was burning. But, nothing to do with falling ill, just, falling.

He smacked a hand to his face, he couldn’t help it. The way his eyes pondered over, racing with determination, a bright green-blue, and that smile – tentative but shining. It had sparked something bold in Otabek’s chest.

..

A soft breeze tickled Yuri’s neck as he kicked out the rug, a faded blue, ideal for picnics. He was on his date with Feena, at the park Otabek had suggested. And he was right, it was lovely. Peaceful, and green. Birds chirping in the distance, children’s laughter as a group dribbled a ball between their feet in the far corner.

A clink alerted his ears as Feena placed a bag down. She appeared beside him, so quickly he didn’t even hear her.

“What’s the matter?” She asked with a sweet smile.

Her hand had covered his, fingers unwrapping his grip from the rug and placing it to the grass.

Yuri shook his head, attempting his best to ignore the sudden flip in his stomach. “I- I’ve never seen this place so…it used to be hovering with drunks and lunatics on whoever-knows-what. The grass even- it was stained dried and never had a chance to grow properly. Children never dared to play near, and it was…I’m just…amazed.” A grin had crept upon his face, failing to conceal the brightness that beamed from his heart.

After a moment that only felt lasted a portion of forever, he turned, eyes meeting with the girl’s. Slowly, slowly his eyes traced the crewneck – the one she’d worn the day they met, her knee lengthened skirt: white, pink and dark green floral and her hair tied back mid ponytail, few strands remained untied, curling along her jawline.

The pair of brown sparked a brightness, then she blurted. “It’s pretty. The park, it’s pretty.”

His body wracked a chuckle as he gestured a hand towards the bag. “You hungry?”

Feena raised both brows, leaned her upper half forwards in a taunt. “Very.” 

 

While momentarily watching the back of the blond – khaki green jacket, red jumper beneath with his hood untucked, his hair half tied back into a bun, the rest peacefully falling with his movement – Feena reached down to balance herself comfortable before sliding her prosthetic build off with a tug. She’d hurried to get ready, fussing over which skirt to wear forgetting the padding for underneath. It was rubbing at her skin, uncomfortable and bothering, the one thing she had wished to leave her alone for the day.

Yuri eased down close beside with his front towards her, unbothered about the fact that she had one leg poking from her skirt. She felt the blush that heated her face as one hand stretched towards her, handing over the jar of sliced gherkins she had brought along. She thanked the boy, then asked why the frown as she opened it.

“Ah, ha, I just find it weird girls like those things.” He rambled as his fingers tugged open a packet of Lays honey barbecue chips.

Feena placed the jar down, leaning back on one elbow. “Have you ever tried one?”

The teen paused, “No. They’re green and slimy.” He responded with his tongue poking in a teased disgust.

“Sook.”

“Weirdo.” 

 

With the short disadvantage of not thinking a proper meal to be made or even some stupid rice-box-thing Katsudon could have prepared – the two shared conversations and memories, nibbled on snacks - even one’s they’d never heard of: Yuri had snuck most from the dork’s pantry.

Yuri moved the bag closer in Feena’s grasp. She reached in and gasped in pleasure of what she discovered.

“I know these! They’re really good!”

The cheer in her voice dragged his eyes from her freckled cheeks to the red-packaged box. Yuri leaned forwards squinting his eyes to read the label, “Poc…ky…Pooky…no…Pocky.”

A warm laughter caught his attention. Feena was watching him. “Pocky. Yuri, just Pocky. They’re Pocky Sticks.”

“Yeah, I knew that.” He replied, refusing to let her see his embarrassment. She handed him the box after grabbing one for herself. He peeked inside. “They literally just look like chocolate-coated biscuits.”

“Yep. And that’s exactly all they are.”

“Then why the stupid name? Why not call them chocolate coated sticks?”

“Just try one, fussy.”

After a snicker from the girl to Yuri’s new finding of taste, he returned all the snacks into the bag. As he had zipped the belongings away, Feena had lay herself back, arm reached into the air twisting her hand in different angles, one eye squinted to perfect her sight. He joined her side a moment later from his brief adored glare, peering up towards the treetops hovering above them.

“What do you see?” He asked in a calm whisper.

The girl hummed, “nothing really. Just the beauty of nature behind my skin.” Yuri furrowed his brows, unsure if it were a spoken metaphor – he was never good at English. Unless she was just bored and- no, can’t have her bored. He flinched as she spoke again, her voice dry. “Or really, no matter how many times you can cut a branch back it always grows back.”

That he understood, metaphor or not his heart singed for her. The teen twisted his body, eyes watching over her. “Not always.” He found himself saying. “Sometimes, the wood gets poisoned, sometimes the tree could just give up, or the change in season puts the growing on hold.”

Her eyes slowly met his, shaking behind a glassy water. She sighed, pressing her palm beneath her eyes. “Why do you have to say such stupid things?”

Yuri struggled to resist a smile, a sad but understanding smile. He shuffled closer, near enough a few strands of his hair tickled her cheek. She removed her hand to the feather touch and stared lost. He was close enough to notice Feena was wearing a light coat of mascara, even though her eyes were a beauty of dark, he swore for a moment they were brighter.

His heart thundered within his chest.

Before he did anything to scare her away, he asked from curiosity: “Can…can you tell me what happened?”

The pair of glossy brown flickered to her skirt, then back to his. She sighed, a scent of pickle bubbled his nose. It was bitter, also a tension of sweet.

“Have you ever heard the phrase: ‘Be one with the skate’?”

Yuri blinked, that was one of the most used coaching lines, every coach uses it. How had any skater not heard it? He nodded for her response.

She tilted her chin away for a moment, then when the surge of encouragement came she spoke again. Voice so calm, it was almost gut-wrenching to listen to her. “My mom and I were taking Peter to practice, y’know. I had his skates on my lap. That morning, my mom and I were arguing so I refused to sit in the passenger and sat in the back. We continued the argument while she was driving, not focusing on the danger we were putting ourselves in.” She let out a shaky breath, the regret from her eyes leeched right onto Yuri. “In result, she ran a red light, car collided into our side. Mostly crushing me. Peter was fine, thankfully, mom too – just a few minor cuts. Me, haha, it’s a joke really. I hadn’t put his skates in his bag, and they ended up crushed between the car door and my thigh. I was literally one with the skate, that’s what the surgeons had said. The blade had cut too many fragile nerves, they kind of all…collapsed.”

The Russian blond remained quiet, she seemed okay with the silence. In some way with his hesitation to speak, it somewhat felt a comfort he was giving her. Although, he didn’t get one part of the story. He brushed the sudden thought aside, replacing himself down beside her again – this time, his head was against hers and hers against his. Peaceful.

..

That afternoon he’d promised he would return the leftovers to the dork’s apartment. As he had walked there the thought from before had come back and he was not brushing it off. 

 

“Yurio!”

“Hey, Viktor.” Yuri replied briefly to the older Russian, heart-shaped smile beaming with a needed gossip. He ignored the questions as he slid beside and strode down the hall. He entered the kitchen, placed the bag on the bench then swung his weight on the nearest bar stool. Yuuri was standing across the bench, tea in one hand phone in the other.

“So, how’d it go?”

Viktor rushed up, pressing both hands upon the bench. “He didn’t answer any of my questions~” He whined.

“Gah.” Yuri scowled. He rolled his head onto his side resting upon one fist. “It was great. Quiet, Otabek really knew the place. She has a thing for gherkins and those weird biscuit sticks. We talked. We sat. It was nice. Anything else?”

The ocean eyes blinked, “Oh! Pocky Sticks! You took them? Aww, I was going to eat them with Yuuri~”

“Quit your sulking. Jeez.”

Yuuri rested the mug down before chirping in. “Sounds like you had fun! Although, something is bothering you.” He stared sharp behind his glasses for a second, his eyes widened. “She told you, didn’t she? About her leg, right?”

“You knew?!”

“No, no no. Of course not. There is just a sadness behind your rage. You’re obviously furious with something. Just a lucky guess!”

Yuri hissed towards that stupid, charming, kind-hearted smile of his. Viktor was suddenly in the stool next him, hand bracing his shoulder.

“Yura, if you want to talk about it we’re here. If it’s that terrible, please, all we want to do is help.”

The blond spun a shocked expression to the man. “What the hell, Viktor! It’s not like she got raped or anything! Jesus. You guys, idiots.” He huffed to the adult’s clueless blink.

In as calm of tone as he could, and stabilized speed, Yuri retold the story as she had. The two nodded and hummed when needed, trying to understand the teen’s frustration. After a few minutes Yuuri finally asked what he was so bothered about.

Yuri clicked his tongue, unraveling the puzzle he had tried to put together since he and Feena had parted their ways. “She said they were Peter’s skates. You’ve seen his skates, I’ve seen his skates – the blade. There’s no way it would cut deep enough. He is a kid’s size. To do such damage, you would need at least a teenage size skate, or my size. For the blade to reach – it just. It doesn’t add up.”

“No. You’re absolutely right. That doesn’t fit at all.” Viktor had added, his fingers pressed to his lips in thought.

“She doesn’t skate. She told me she didn’t skate. But she must have had to, right? They would have been her skates. Her blade. Not Peter’s. There’s no way.”

The Japanese nodded, silent in his own confusion.

Viktor revealed his phone from his back pocket, unlocking the screen in search for his contacts. “I’ll ask Mila, if she skated, then they would have been in a similar rank. Mila would know.”

Yuri whined into his palms. The spark in Feena’s eyes when she watched her brother, the sadness when he had asked if she skated, she had to have skated. She had to. He could sense it, some voice in the back of his mind knew.

He stood from the stool. His fists balled – determined, Viktor noticed and called his name in warning. Yuri ignored, not like they were his parents anyway. A hand wrapped his wrist, the blond grunted.

“Yuri.” Viktor had called again, voice angered and stern.

The teen shoved his hand afar, meeting eye to eye with the blue, speaking through gritted teeth. “She can’t live like this. It pisses me off. I am getting her on that ice again.”

In sync, both adults had gaped. “What?”

“You’re planning to do what?!”

Yuri turned eyes shaky to Katsudon. “I am getting Feena on that ice. No matter what it takes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 2 and 3 will be uploaded over the next few days, as I have exams coming up very very soon it will be on hold during then *cries* 
> 
> Kind of very glad, writing is back ;) 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
